Fear can turn to Love
by MademoisellexPhantom
Summary: Christine fears Erik immensely...Can she ever return the love he gives her?...EC Ew, horrid summary. Hopefully good story :)
1. Default Chapter

Christine Daae, frightened and exhausted, sat all alone atop the roof of the Opera Populaire. Her porcelain perfect cheeks were stained with her incessant tears. She gingerly tightened her velvet cloak around her trembling body. Her striking blue eyes were tainted…Tainted with the pain she was harboring and the shimmering agony deep within them. She felt helpless; unable to escape the icy grasp of the terrible cold. However, it wasn't so much the angelically white snow, or the violent bursts of freezing air… No, it was something far, far more intense. Those glowing enticing eyes upon her… those eyes which she adored. She shivered (_Of what? _Christine asked herself. _Fear? Anticipation? Oh God, Love! Or is it the mere temperature?) _more violently than ever before when she realized Erik's eyes were watching her. Madame Giry's grave words echoed eerily in her head: "The angel sees, the angel knows." Embarrassment flooded her. Angrily, Christine swiped away at her tears with the back of her hand. That touch…It felt nothing like her warm and soft hands. She wished she had worn gloves. She felt numbness in her hands, yes, but mostly her heart felt numb. All of this... It was simply far too much to process. A dull throbbing gathered around her temples. She fought the urge to collapse into Erik's arms. She wanted desperately to tell him that she hated him. But she didn't! Oh but at the same time she did. It would all be so much easier if she just went to Raoul. Raoul…He was so sweet. Gentle and kind, loving and… Well he was tangible. He was convenient. Why did everything have to be so utterly confusing? Guilt welled up inside at the thought of Raoul. She had accepted to be his bride. But Erik… Fervently, Christine scolded herself for even contemplating loving Erik… The Phantom of the Opera. The Angel of Music. Oh, how he deceived her. He was no angel. In fact, Christine feared that he was a demon, a minion of Hell itself. Moments ago he murdered a man. Poor, poor Joseph Bouquet. He was by no means a perfect man, of course, but never would Christine have wished death upon him. He had dirty lusts and made no attempt at all to disguise them. Once, long ago, he had even been bold enough to try and force himself upon her. Her "angel" had saved her. Madame Giry scolded her for being as unwise as to wander down the corridors without a chaperone. Finally, the intensity of Erik's masked presence was too overwhelming. She couldn't act any longer.

"Hello Erik," Christine weakly greeted, her tone holding no emotion. Not to her surprise the silence remained. A tidal wave of distorted feelings crashed over her. He could see her but she couldn't see him? What kind of game was he trying to play? She was so lost…So helpless. He completely controlled her and she hated it.

"God damn it Erik! Come out and end this torment!" Christine's wavering yet firm voice demanded.

Erik's body grew very tense. The hairs upon his neck became erect. He was in an utter state of shock. He longed to beg Christine's forgiveness. To kiss the very ground she graced theground with her feet. However, he remained still, silent, like the stone gargoyle he thought himself to be. Every lovesick fiber of his being was consumed with shock…Who would have thought that his weak, timid Christine could act so boldly? Gods, she was beautiful when angry…Then again she was always beautiful. Then, a sound more horrid than even anything that the wretched La Carlotta could produce shattered the awkward silence. A bitter, forced laughter combined with a choked sob escaped Christine's gorgeous full lips and filled the brisk winter air. He now took notice of the immense pain inside of her usual bright, energetic eyes. His heart broke in two for this small creature.

"Come now Erik..._Angel_ must you play such childish games with me?" Christine sarcastically spat at him.

Anger, fervent and burning consumed Erik's already cold soul. How he despised the way she could control him. How simply she reduced him to less than that of an obsessed, speechless oaf. How simply she could make him feel sincere sympathy, and then fierce hatred. She completely controlled him, and he hated it. Her cold words echoed tauntingly in his head. _Angel…_ Gasoline doused the already raging fire. Trembling with strained anger, Erik's leather encased fingers clenched and released themselves so powerfully that his knuckles became white. Masking his fury professionally, Erik replied while emerging from the comfort of the shadows, "Good evening Mademoiselle."

His icy, hypnotic stare bore into not only Christine's eyes, but her very soul. She felt bare, naked in front of him. His elegant voice mocked her.

"What is it that you wish to say Christine?" In response, she shot him a cold stare. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. She would not grant him her voice. Erik chuckled softly at her cool demeanor. He sauntered towards her quickly all the while explaining in a bubbly tone, "Oh my Dear, your silence says all that you words will not." Christine's eyes fixated into his and with a resilient scowl she remarked, "And what is it exactly that I should say? Should I be thanking you for murdering a man? Should I be thanking you for taking another life?" Erik Exploded.


	2. Please Erik

His agility alarmed her tremendously, and a surprised gasp flew from her mouth. Erik let out a venomous laugh. Hastily, Erik grabbed her arms and pinned them roughly above her head. She was helpless against his amazing strength, but she struggled nevertheless. Erik maliciously grinned down upon her. Christine's eyes were wide with terror and shock. He had the advantage of superior height and strength, not to mention and ominous aura chilling all of those who saw him. She disgusted herself with the sudden urge to kiss him. The nearness of their bodies…It was unbearable. She shot out her leg in attempts to kick him (and dismiss the graphic images of the sweating bodies), but quite forcefully he pressed his taut thigh in between her thin dancers legs, restricting any further movement. Closer yet. Her emotions were truly in turmoil. She whimpered his name timidly and was sobbing with tremendous force.

Ignoring her pitiful pleas and sobs, Erik spat with anger stitched in every syllable, "Why do you do this to me Christine? Do you enjoy causing me suffering? Every action I make is for you! Why can't you return my Goddamn love? What does your precious Viscount offer you? I offer you everything and more, my music, my soul, my fucking love!" By the end of his rant, Erik was nearly screaming. Christine stared into his steely gaze with indefinable emotions flickering in her eyes.

"Please! Just let me go Erik, please!" Christine cried.

"Right, of course, so you can return to that boy!" Erik yelled, lost in the frenzy of anger. Christine gave a final attempt to break free from his vice like grip. She jerked her hips and tried with all the strength she had left to push him away. His cool relaxed voice sadistically whispered, "Some men, my sweet Christine, would take that as an open invitation." Christine's face flushed in shame when she realized the intimate friction she had been creating between their groins. Then, it happened. Poor Christine gave up. No more whimpering, no more pitiful tears.

She met his fiery greenish blue orbs directly, and in a barley audible voice, said, "You are hurting me, Erik." The fear and innocence in her broken voice brought Erik flooding back to his senses. He released her gently, retracting his leg and dropping her wrists. Her lower lip trembled profusely, but she dared not make a noise.

"Oh God Christine…My dear, sweet Christine. Please forgive me…Please I am so sorry…What is wrong with me? Oh God I am a monster…Just like they all say. It is all true Christine; I am the child of Hell." Erik incoherently cried. He was shaking with the power of his heaving sobs. Christine gave him a somber and weary smile. She lifted her hand to wipe away his tears, to show him that he was forgiven. Angels are always forgiven, no? Before she reached his cheek, his hand shot up and stopped her. She squeaked at the painful pressure applied to her bruised wrists. _Another reminder of what a demon I am! _Erik silently yelled.

"I am truly sorry Christine, but leave me." Erik firmly asked.

"But Erik, I-"

"NOW!" Erik demanded forcefully. Christine practically ran from him, and back to the safety of her flat. He hadn't let her finish though. Although she wasn't sure of what she would've said, she wanted to say, "But Erik, I love you."


	3. Brace yourself

Erik bellowed in self loathing and rage. His unrelenting fists again and again came down upon his wall. A large hole began to form. The crevice was doused in blood. Blood was a funny thing to Erik. He had seen so much of it; His victim's as well as his own. Still he could not seem to understand it. Erik was always cold. Christine wasn't. She was warm, soft and smelled of roses, sunshine and vanilla. Erik thought he was cold, rough and smelled strange…Possibly like Death. But what made Christine's blood so warm and him of the opposite? It baffled and angered him to no end. Sleep tugged invitingly on Erik's eyelids. He didn't want to sleep though. That's when the nightmares came…That's when he would relive Christine's look of sheer horror. That was it wasn't it? She wouldn't love him because she feared him. A pang of guilt shot through Erik's heart recalling the last meeting he had with Christine. He reluctantly climbed into his coffin. Then a voice, her voice sobbed:

"I'm sorry Erik, I'm sorry I was confused, please, please…" _Damn you, Christine._ Erik thought._ You've managed to make me actually _hear_ your voice. Damn you, Damn you, Damn you._

Madame Giry was worried. Very worried. Christine had gone missing after Il Muto. Like the mother she was, she looked high and low. When finally she had located her, she was hysterical and violent. She was in a crumpled heap on the floor bringing her bloodied hands pathetically unto her vanity mirror. She was sobbing so hard that all that Antoinette could make out was a distorted version of, "LET ME IN! Please Erik, please! I was so confused, I was afraid. Don't leave me angel please! I'm sorry Erik, I'm sorry; I was confused, please, please!" There were much crying, sniffles and gibberish accompanying her words.


	4. Review Thank Yous

Hey All. Thank you endlessly for the reviews, they mean a lot to me 

I Despise Raoul: Great penname! I do too hehe. Yeah Christine makes me angry sometimes, Erikgood. Raoulbad. Not that hard!  Thanks for reviewing both the first and second chapters, you rock! hands cookies

TerpinetineMind: Thank you for your review. Yeah, I agree, Christine was a bit fickle. I tried my best to make it E/Cish, but in character as well. If you have any ideas on how to make her character more realistic, please do let me know.

WildPixieChild16: I updated as soon as possible. Yay, you think my story is cool! WHEEEE runs around, then trips


	5. Angel or Demon?

**A/N: Hello all of my reviewers! (I Despise Raoul, TerpintineMind, WildPixieChild16, Countess Alana, and TryptoPhan) I appreciate your reviews a ton! you all rock. :) Well this chapter is slightly angsty, but i really liked writing this one because there are a ton of character P.O.V's. I have a question though, pick A or B. grins just do it, humor me, i'm torn between two ideas on what to do next. So, pick A or B.**

**TryptoPhan:aww your review made me go SQUEEE! you are so squee worthy hehe. Yeah, i wasnt sure on whether or not to have Erik say "fcking" but i just did it. I agree with you though, it isnt too much like him. hehe i dont think ill be having him say it again, he was just craaaazy with anger.**

**K, enought talk, on with the chappy! WHEEEE**

Madame Giry sighed in annoyance along with many other emotions. Christine…She was such a child at times. Did she not understand that toying with men hearts…Especially Erik's heart, was simply wrong! That seemed harsh… yes. But the truth hurts. Antoinette closed her eyes briefly as she recalled her long talk with Miss Daae. Once she had calmed Christine down enough to make her understandable, Christine blurted out the entire terrifying ordeal. Christine may be many things, a dancer, singer, but she was not a liar. Never a liar.

"_Christine I love you as a mother loves her daughter…My child. But you need to mature…Choose what it is that you want: Raoul or Erik? You cannot have both." Christine was barley coherent at the time. She locked into her guardians cold eyes and exclaimed, "Oh, Madame, I do not know! Do you think one can die of guilt? Why does it hurt so horribly? Why can't papa just be here with me? Oh Papa, I am nothing but the common whore. Papa, Papa…Where are you now? Where is my Angel of Music? You promised me, you promised me!" An uncomfortable silence passed between the two. So she feels guilty…Not a surprise. The Madame feared that Christine had gone completely and utterly mad. Now was as good as any time to get answers out of her. "Why do you feel guilt? Do you feel guilt for leading Erik on, only to break his heart," Madame Giry inquired a bit too harshly, "Or do you feel guilt for accepting The Viscount's proposal?" Christine sat very quietly for several moments. Then, her so reply, so chillingly _mature _quietly came. "Madame I am very tired. If you do not mind, I would very much like to be left alone." Antoinette merely gave a stiff nod and showed herself out of the room. Briefly, she pondered on what Christine must be going through. Let's run down the list shall we? At far too young of an age she had her father ripped from her, she never even knew her mother, she has had nasty ballet rats pester and ridicule her for her lack of talent in ballet, and to top it all off, she is torn between the men whom she loves; what a lovely, lovely life. Her and Erik have so much in common…They share pain…They share a common love: Music. And whether they knew it yet or not, a common love for each other. Antoinette's thoughts drifted to Erik…His life was not much better, if not worse than Christine's. He had been hated by everyone who ever laid eyes upon his face. Either that or feared…Or most horridly of all, pitied. Pity was a most terrible feeling to have, or to receive. Erik didn't want to be pitied, no, all he wanted was to be loved. But why in Hell had he fallen for Christine? She was barley ready to choose what frock to wear in the morning, let alone choose who to love for eternity. Maybe that was it…Maybe he was helplessly drawn to her pure innocence and capability or acceptance. "Oh Erik, what have you gotten yourself into?" The stern ballet mistress muttered beneath her breath._

"Too much Antoinette. Far, far too much."

His appearance was appalling at best. His usual crisp, formidable suit was wrinkled, and he was without his trademark cape. His eyes were darkened with the black bags beneath them, and his hair was in frenzy. He smelled of whiskey and brandy. All of those things were surprising, even shocking, but what horrified her was the absence of something very, very dear to him. His mask…It was missing. She couldn't even stifle the gasp that passed through her thin lips. Erik showed no embarrassment or shame, only amusement._ Even the first woman ever to give a damn about me can't accept my face…_ Softly, he chuckled but only to trail of into sharp ragged breaths. "My dear, please do not conceal your fear, it is only natural of your kind." He then smiled politely, the way a grade school teacher would to a confused pupil. _My Kind?_ Antoinette asked herself silently. _What in God's green_ _earth does he mean _my_ kind?_

"I beg your pardon, Monsieur, but what do you mean by my kind?" Madame Giry asked, forcing herself to be gentle and kind. She knew better than anyone else that one should stay on Erik's good side. Erik grinned in the strangest manner down at Antoinette. The smile he offered her was neither comforting nor reassuring.

"Well you see Madame, society, or on a larger scale, the human race does not see me fit to be a person. Why have I been kidding myself for all this time that I am like you or the Viscount or my beloved Christine? You know as well as I that I am not. I should become the monster that I am, should I not? It is simple, really. I am hated, or more likely feared. That is it isn't it my dear friend? She cannot love me because she is afraid of me!" Erik explained quite bluntly. A painful realization then settled within Antoinette Giry's heart. Oh Erik…Why are we so blind to what is laid right before our eyes?

"No Erik, no. She cannot love you just yet because she is only a child. Erik, she is only a child. She is not ready to be mature, save an adult. Give her one thing Erik, and let that be her innocence. She is just not ready…"

"I am a thing of Hell, Antoinette. I cannot stop loving her. She gives me light. Dear Jesus, I simply cannot stop." A salty tear slipped down her weathered cheeks. Erik made a move to cover his marred face, but was stopped abruptly by his only friends loving action. She bent down a gently pecked his right cheek.

"A face is a face Erik. Soon Christine will see that." She left him to be in privacy with a second glance. Erik was filled with a new hope. _If Antoinette can accept me, she will too! Yes, Christine will accept me and love me and we will have our long sought out happily ever after!_ No Erik, you blasted fool! His pessimistic side snarled. Demons and beasts don't get happily ever afters.


End file.
